


Set Up For Failure

by LifeOfClaude



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Break Up, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeOfClaude/pseuds/LifeOfClaude
Summary: After three months together, Chekov decides to end things with McCoy.





	Set Up For Failure

**Author's Note:**

> What? Me, writing a break-up fic between Chekov/McCoy? I truly never thought I'd see this day!  
> I wrote this over the span of about two hours and whilst it was saddening, I enjoyed pulling it together.  
> I hope it's a good read!

Chekov hadn’t meant for this to happen, not at all. He had actually intended on the complete _opposite_ happening, but he supposed, things didn't always go as planned, no matter how much you wanted them to.

 

Doctor McCoy moaned into his neck, nipping the sensitive skin below Chekov’s ear as he hovered over the top of his body, cock deep inside him, thrusting harder and deeper with each movement. He couldn’t help himself when he groaned eagerly in return, the doctor being incredibly skilful when it came to sex, and the first feelings of guilt began to sink in.

 

They had been sleeping together for roughly three months and dating for two. In the beginning, Chekov had seen Doctor McCoy almost as a challenge, with his continuing foul moods and rejecting Chekov’s pursuits left, right and centre. It had taken him the better part of two weeks to eventually wear the doctor down, convincing him that it was completely okay for a 36-year-old man to have sex with a 22-year-old, and it had initially been very worth the wait. Doctor McCoy had bent him over his desk, fucking him unceremoniously and without much preparation, and Chekov had loved every second, making quite the mess all over the CMO’s office floor.

 

After they had continued fucking for a month or so, Chekov boldly suggested one night as they lay together in the doctor’s quarters, that maybe they could take things further and be exclusive; spend time with each other that didn’t always involve sex. He decided he quite liked the idea of not having to share. Doctor McCoy, though, had obviously been reluctant and dubious at such a suggestion, talking of his divorce and that he didn’t feel entirely ready to love someone again. Chekov assured him he understood and snuggled back into the doctor’s arms, murmuring promises - that, now, really didn’t mean anything at all - until the older man eventually agreed to be Chekov’s exclusive lover.

 

But there, very much in the present, Chekov lay beneath Doctor McCoy as he fucked him, wishing he hadn’t allowed the older man to kiss him, to undress him and whisper filthy, wonderful things in his ear, because he hadn’t come to have sex – he was breaking up with the doctor. He felt terrible. There, on top of him, kissing his neck and face so intimately and passionately, was a man that was very clearly in love with Chekov, and he did not reciprocate those feelings even a little bit. For the first month of their “dating”, Chekov thought maybe he felt _something_ along the lines of love for Doctor McCoy, but it was merely mutual attraction combined with adoration and the enjoyment of being doted upon by someone so much older. It only took him a few weeks to realise that, and further two to make the final decision to end things.

 

“Leonard...” He murmured, his voice smaller than usual. “We need to stop. Please, will you pull out?”

 

The doctor immediately froze, drawing back to glance at Chekov is obvious confusion and dismay. He did as he was asked, though, and went to lay beside him, his hands coming down over Chekov’s face, stroking it lovingly and looking concerned. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Jesus, I’m sorry - “

 

Chekov shook his head and sat up. “ _Nyet_ , no. Not that. I want to... I want to talk to you. That is why I came here.”

 

He watched as realisation slowly crossed Doctor McCoy’s features and he, too, sat up on the bed. His previously very hard cock was now completely soft, and the doctor reached for his nearby, discarded underwear, hastily pulling them on. Chekov mirrored the action and the two sat facing each other, neither of them speaking. More guilt was flooding through Chekov as he watched the doctor’s beautiful, hazel eyes start to mist up and he felt a lump in his own throat at the sight.

 

“Leonard, I - “

 

“Please, don’t... Just, don’t say it...” the doctor interrupted, his voice strained.

 

Chekov swallowed and licked his dry lips. “I am very sorry. It is my fault. I want to break up.”

 

Doctor McCoy winced and glanced down at his lap, taking a very deep breath. It took him a few moments before he finally exhaled shakily. He nodded, shoulders slumped, refusing to look Chekov in the eye. “Okay,”

 

“ _Okay_?” Chekov echoed, expecting much more of a reaction. “That is it?”

 

“What more d’you want me to say, Pavel? You’ve clearly made up your mind,” the doctor replied, slowly raising his head, agony written all over his face.

 

“I... don’t know. I guess I thought... “

 

Doctor McCoy laughed shortly, in disbelief. He shook his head. “You thought what? I’d put up a fight? Beg? Shout?” He rubbed a hand over his face and slipped off the bed, beginning to pace. “I can’t believe this... Why’d you let me fuck you if you came here to end it? God, I know you’re young, but that’s pretty damn messed up, Pavel,” he said, obvious hurt in his voice.

 

Chekov nodded numbly. “You are right. I am sorry to hurt you like this.”

 

Another sigh came from Doctor McCoy and he ceased his pacing, staring at Pavel from his place by the orange, Starfleet chair in his small bedroom area. He sat on it and rested his head in his hands, elbows propped against his knees. Chekov thought he might start weeping, given his posture and lack of response for so long, but he didn’t, just remained silent and morose before eventually lifting his head up.

 

He sighed, deep and sullen. “Bein’ a glutton for punishment, I do wanna ask why,” he grumbled out.

 

“That is fair, but you will not like my answer...” Chekov responded, and the doctor grunted in disdain. “I do not love you, that is why. I am not sure I ever could... You love me, though, don’t you?” He asked sadly.

 

Doctor McCoy watched him from his seat for what felt like hours, expression mostly blank, until eventually, his composure finally crumbled. His face screwed up and he placed his head in his hands again, muffling a sob and hiding the tears that were undoubtedly slipping down his face. Chekov was heartbroken for him. He had never seen the headstrong, sour doctor like this before. It was immobilising for him. He wanted to get up, wanted to leave, but found he couldn’t move from his place on Doctor McCoy’s bed, watching him as he cried over a 23-year-old Ensign admitting he was not able to love him.

 

“Leonard,” he whispered, “please do not cry... I am not worth it, really. I know you think I am but – “

 

The doctor suddenly looked up, eyes visibly red from crying, a scowl on his face. The words he spoke were venomous and bitter. “I _don’t_ think you’re worth it. I think you were a damn waste of my time and I’m cryin’ because I’m angry. I can’t believe I let you convince me this was a good idea. I’m such an _idiot_ ,” he seethed.

 

Chekov, though shocked by his harsh words, knew Doctor McCoy didn’t really mean those things, even if he did deserve to hear them. He nodded at the older man in agreement and slowly got up, pulling his clothes on wordlessly. He figured it was definitely time to go at that point and watched in his peripheral vision as Doctor McCoy stood and moved toward him. A hand reached out for his shoulder but fell short, and for a split second, Chekov wished the doctor _had_ touched him, realising he would no longer be able to enjoy such a thing from him, despite his own wishes to end their relationship.

 

“Guess this is it, then...” Doctor McCoy murmured.

 

Chekov stared at the floor. “Yes,” he answered quietly.

 

“I... I’m sorry it couldn’t work out,” the doctor replied, sounding genuine, and Chekov nodded. “Now,” he gruffed, clearing his throat, “get the hell outta my quarters, Ensign. Don’t be late for your scheduled Medical Exam next week,”

 

“Yes, Doctor,”

 

Chekov quickly saluted him and made a swift exit through the automatic doors, stepping out into the ship’s corridor and closing his eyes with a deep breath. Raising his chin, head held up high, he marched towards the turbolift to return to his own quarters. His heart still ached as he rode down the few levels to the one he needed, remembering the pain on Doctor McCoy’s face, and it still hadn’t lessened by the time he reached his rooms, throwing himself down onto the bed with a groan. It wasn’t long before he fell into an exhausted sleep. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

McCoy stared at the automatic doors after they had whooshed shut, still standing in the middle of his quarters in nothing but socks and underwear. The last hour felt like a blur to him. He was still having trouble processing what had even happened and he sure as hell hadn’t seen it coming.

 

Deciding he needed to be clothed, McCoy pulled his uniform back on and went to retrieve his bottle of bourbon and a glass, sitting at his desk. He knocked back a double and quickly poured another, nursing it in his hands and staring blankly at the wall across the room. The liquor slowly warmed his aching chest and he sipped leisurely at his fresh glass, replaying the events from earlier over and over in his head.

 

He supposed, if he was honest with himself, that he wasn’t all that surprised. The reality of the situation was that he was fourteen years older than Chekov, and a kid his age just wasn’t looking to settle down. He’d told McCoy that he didn’t think he could ever love him, which had fucking _hurt_ , that was for sure, but as he reflected, McCoy gradually came to realise that the signs had been there all along. Whilst they hadn’t _only_ been having sex, Chekov generally only wanted attention from McCoy, not necessarily affections. Hell, he should have heard the alarm bells when the kid kept persisting, despite McCoy’s frivolous efforts to tell Chekov to back off, or when he confided in him that he wasn’t ready for a new relationship yet.

 

That – _that_ was what hurt the most in all of this. McCoy had put himself out there again, let himself be vulnerable and take another stab at love, with a _god damn_ 23-year-old. He’d set himself up for failure, really, which was pretty embarrassing in itself. Had he really been _that_ desperate? That lonely? Apparently so.

 

With a snort, McCoy gulped down the rest of his drink and got up from his desk, fully intending on heading down to his office and immersing himself in work as a distraction. Outside of his quarters, he strode toward Sickbay with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, and silently prayed he wouldn’t have to cross paths with a certain, curly-haired Ensign – preferably, ever again.    

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please kudos/comment! x


End file.
